A Dangerous Love

by Brenda Joyce

  She somehow smiled back, but she was so nervous she felt sick. However, she must not let him see that she was uncertain and anxious. She had to be bold; she had to be coy and confident; she had to be impossibly alluring.

  Jaelle straightened from a cook fire, her eyes wide.

  Stevan walked away from a bright green tent. He waved at her.

  Ariella wanted to wave back, carelessly if at all possible, but Emilian had straightened. He saw her and froze.

  Her heart thundered so loudly now that she was sure he could hear it, even with the many meters separating them. She realized she was crossing the distance between them, slowly, steadily. She could not smile, but this was so right. He had to know it, too.

  The light in his gray eyes flared and the anger she had expected covered his face. He dropped the hammer but didn’t move.

  She paused before him. “I have decided to come with you after all.”

  His broad chest heaved. “I don’t think so.”

  She smiled. “You miss me and you care. You cannot take back such a confession.”

  His face seemed in danger of cracking. “A man says many things in the heat of the moment.”

  She trembled and told herself not to give in. She squared her shoulders and gave him a long, intent look through her lashes. “You did not tell me you cared in the heat of any passionate moment. In that moment you told me you needed me—desperately.”

  He flushed. “You should be too proud,” he said, “to chase after a man who does not want you!”

  His words didn’t hurt because she knew the last part of his statement wasn’t true. She smiled and laid her palm on his bare, wet chest. She felt his heart racing very swiftly and she experienced a flare of satisfaction. Her touch had a powerful effect on him. “Emilian, we both know you do want me—in many ways. I am not going back. I am staying with you.”

  He was disbelieving. He seized her hand, but for one moment didn’t remove it. Then he flung it aside. He tore his attention from her to Alexi, who remained seated in the gig, watching them like a hawk. “So you have decided on marriage after all?” he demanded of her.

  “No. I am not marrying you, not until you ask me to do so with love in your heart.”

  His eyes widened.

  “I am here as your friend and lover,” she added softly.

  His color returned. “And your brother has agreed to let you be my mistress?”

  “You know I would never tell him such a thing.” She laid her hand on his bare arm. He shuddered as she slid her hand over his bicep. His silver gaze smoldered and she realized she had more power over him than she had realized. “You missed me and returned to Rose Hill. I missed you the moment you left. My place is with you, Emilian,” she stressed. “Even here, in the kumpa’nia.”

  “Damn it, your place is at Rose Hill, or in London or even at Woodland!” He shook her hand off but her touch and words had done their work, for she noted that there was some doubt now in his eyes.

  She was about to triumph, she thought in abject relief. “Let me spend the night,” she said. “I am too tired to go back tonight. We can argue tomorrow, if you wish.”

  His gray eyes hot, he leaned close and murmured, “This is a dangerous game, if you think to have me so smitten by dawn that I will not send you back!”

  Her heart raced. She could seduce him to her will, couldn’t she? She wet her lips and whispered, “You won’t be able to send me back at dawn.”

  He stared and she stared back. He said, “That is a challenge I accept.”

  She trembled, aware that her efforts were double-edged, for her own body was far too warm. “Good,” she said.

  He folded his arms across his chest, causing the pectoral muscles to bulge above them.

  Her tension heightened. “Where is your tent? I would like to freshen up.”

  His eyes blazed, partly with anger and partly with heat, and he pointed at a dark green canvas structure. Ariella smiled at him, then went to bid Alexi goodbye.

  ARIELLA WONDERED if everyone’s tent was as pleasant as Emilian’s. A beautifully carved chest contained his clothes and personal items. He had a small, portable desk and a chair, as well as an elegant Chinese rug. The bed consisted of a large mattress, covered with blue silk sheets beneath a navy-and-gold paisley comforter. The candlesticks by the bed were sterling silver.

  She found a hand mirror in the chest and was pleased to see that her eyes were bright and her cheeks flushed. She looked rather sultry, but not sultry enough.

  Her body hollowed. She was with Emilian now, and they were finally going to spend the entire night together. It would be the first of many. She was not going to let him send her away in the morning. She must make certain he was so smitten with her that he couldn’t bear to part with her.

  She smiled uncertainly at her reflection. She did not have much experience, but in his arms, she became a very different woman, one entirely shameless, without any inhibition. She must recall that fact now and use it to boost her confidence. She was going to seduce him; she was going to make love to him. He thought this a game and a challenge, but it was neither.

  “May I come in?” Jaelle asked.

  Ariella turned, pleased to see her. Jaelle came in, leaving the tent open behind her. Ariella noted her pretty pale green blouse, which bared her shoulders, and the dark purple skirt she wore, which encased her narrow hips before flaring seductively out. The brown embroidered sash showcased her tiny waist, and her hair was loose.

  Ariella was wearing an ivory and brown long-sleeved gown with a round neckline and small collar, her hair pulled tightly back into a chignon. There was no question that her ensemble was not going to serve her well.

  Ariella embraced her briefly. “I hope you don’t think I was wrong to pursue your brother.”

  “If he did not love you, he would not have gone back to Rose Hill to see you—and he would not be refusing all the pretty women in the camp.”

  He had told her there was no one else, but still, Ariella was thrilled.

  “It is good that you came for him, because another woman would steal him away sooner or later,” Jaelle said. She shrugged. “You love him. So chase him if he thinks to run. I would.”

  Ariella took her hand. “He intends to send me home tomorrow.”

  Jaelle laughed. “Really? Then you must change his mind. That should be easy enough.”

  She breathed and thought of the night to come. “Yes, I intend to change his mind tonight. Can you help me?”

  EMILIAN CUPPED his glass of wine, staring at his tent. Then he realized what he was doing and instantly turned away. But he wasn’t interested in anything or anyone else. His attention returned to the tent. The flap had been closed at least an hour ago. What was taking her so long?

  He knew what she was doing—she was washing, doing her hair, adding rouge, perhaps, and touching the pulse points of her body with perfume. She was preparing for the night she would spend with him.

  Tension stiffened his body impossibly. The sun was now setting. Nicu was playing his violin, but the tune was jaunty, which annoyed him. Most of the children had finished eating and the younger ones had been put to bed. One of the women who had been trying to bed him for days was dancing with another man. As if she knew he was lost to her now, she had eyes only for her partner. He ignored them, staring intently at his tent. He almost thought he saw her shadow within, but that was impossible through the thick canvas.

  He remained disbelieving. Not only had she followed him across half of England, she intended to stay with him. And she didn’t even wish for marriage. Of course she didn’t—she was too damned independent for her own good. He did not want her there with him, not under any circumstance. She was not a Romni and she would never be one.

  He cursed and flung the wine aside. How had one act of revenge turned into so much anxiety, anguish and passion? Why did she have to be so different from other young ladies? Any other gadji would have demanded marriage, rather hysterically. She thought
to be his lover and friend and she would travel like a Romni with him.

  Well, that was fine with him. He would make love to her all night, but in the morning, he was putting her on the next train bound south.

  The flap moved, and he watched an angel of desire step into the night.

  She smiled at him.

  He breathed hard, stunned. Her glance was arch and inviting. Her long, dark golden hair was loose and flowed in wild waves over her shoulders, which were bare. She wore a yellow blouse and gold sash, the effect as revealing as a corset. He saw that she was naked beneath the blouse and he felt his mouth turn dry. The purple skirt she wore was iridescent and it flowed over her hips and thighs like fine silk. His pulse drummed with urgency now, making it hard for him to recall why he did not want her there after all.

  She started forward, and her hips seemed to sway, her breasts seemed to float. He realized she was barefoot.

  “What do you think?” she asked, and she pirouetted for him.

  He seized her wrist and pulled her up against his hard, hurting body. “I think we should go inside my tent.”

  Her eyes were wide, but then they warmed and her lashes lowered. She laughed, the sound husky. “But you are never in a rush,” she murmured.

  “I am always in a rush,” he murmured back, “when I am with you. I just manage to control myself.”

  He felt her breasts heaving against his chest, her nipples hard and tight.

  She laid her hands on his chest, over his loose lawn shirt, and shifted, brushing her hip against his bulging loins. “I wish for a glass of wine,” she said. “And I want to dance.”

  He released her, stepping back.

  She tossed her hair and sauntered into the firelight. He watched her for a moment and when she turned, lifting her arms, it drew her blouse impossibly tight. Arms high, she swayed to the music.

  Although his lust blazed, he felt himself still as she rotated her pelvis and hips in an ancient sensual rhythm. She turned slowly, so he could watch her back again, and when she faced him, she used her hands to fan out her hair, her eyes on him. His heart exploded. She smiled at him again, lashes low.

  He strode into the circle of light and caught her; she laughed. As he covered her mouth with his, forcefully, it crossed his mind that the sound he had just heard had been a bit triumphant. He forced his tongue deep, and when she was clinging, he pulled back and said, “You haven’t won yet.”

  She somehow slipped from his arms, surprising him and darting ahead. He filled impossibly as she ran lightly toward the tent. Then, savagely intent, so aroused he could not think coherently, he followed her. She vanished inside.

  He stepped inside, as well, dropping the flap behind him.

  Candles burned in glass lanterns. She loosened the sash, dropping it by her feet.

  He went still, realizing what she was doing.

  She began to tug the yellow blouse over her head, very slowly, and she tossed it aside. Then she paused. He stared, his pulse drumming. The tips of her breasts were engorged and entangled with her hair. He couldn’t seem to breathe. She smiled and turned her back.

  She loosened the skirt and began sliding it down her hips. The moment he realized she was naked beneath the skirt, he went still, mesmerized, impossibly rigid. She slowly slid the skirt down her high buttocks and then lower, down her thighs. She let it go and it pooled on the floor.

  He gave in, reaching her from behind, clasping her waist. He pulled her against his pounding loins. “Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked thickly.

  She leaned against him, trembling. “Very much,” she said as thickly.

  “I am master here,” he murmured, meaning it. But he moved his mouth over the side of her neck.

  She shuddered and gasped, arching fully against him. He turned her swiftly and their gazes met; he caught the hair at her nape, wrapped it around his hand and kissed her, deeply.

  He knew he should go slowly, but he could not. He tore his mouth from hers. A moment later he had pushed her down onto his bed, and he was already reaching for the flap on his breeches. She had his hair in her hands and their eyes remained locked.

  Her blue eyes shimmered with far more than lust. There was so much love there. He moaned, slowly moving into her. In that moment, he knew that her being there with him in the kumpa’nia was so terribly right.

  She gasped, beginning to cry. She touched his cheek, his back, wrapping her legs around him. He somehow moved slowly, savoring every long stroke, wondering at the stunning pleasure, the bursting joy, a chaos in his heart.

  She would give up everything to be with him, just like this.

  But wouldn’t he give up everything for her, too?

  “Emilian, yes.” She wept in pleasure and he gave in, crying out in his own release, joining her in the wonder of pleasure and love.

  He held her tightly when they were both through, his face wet from tears. He did not want to let go.

  HE LOOKED AT HER as she lay asleep, while dawn’s pale light filtered into the tent. She had fallen asleep perhaps a half an hour ago, snuggled against his chest. He had one arm around her, and her beautiful, perfect face was turned toward him, so he could study her every stunning feature. His heart beat hard as he stared at her. They had made love all night, but he could do so again easily.

  He tore his gaze from her face and stared up at the dark ceiling of the tent. He had never known a woman like this one. Now it was time to admit that he had never wanted any woman as he did Ariella. He had never cared this way before.

  He almost laughed. Ariella had gotten her way, hadn’t she? They had become friends and he could no longer deny it. She had achieved her natural progression.

  He gently disengaged and put his hands beneath his head. She deserved better than him and more than this. They might be friends and lovers now, but he was a half blood and she was too good to be any man’s mistress, much less a Rom’s. She deserved a proper marriage and her Englishman.

  The thought crept into his head that he could return to Woodland and marry her.

  He was not quite shocked and he slowly sat up and stared down at her.

  He wasn’t returning to Woodland. But she had to go back, even if he wanted her with him. That was another stunning admission. He wouldn’t mind her staying with him, like this. He had come to care for her that much.

  But it was impossible. What he wanted did not matter. He simply could not allow her to be a part of the ugly world the Roma lived in, and he wouldn’t allow her to be his mistress.

  But all of Derbyshire already knew of their affair from the Rose Hill ball. Her pursuit of him to York might even be out, as well. Servants eavesdropped and gossiped. Sooner or later, Ariella’s latest escapade would be the rage among the rumormongers. They would call her a Gypsy whore—if they weren’t doing so already. But only behind her back and never to her face.

  De Warenne would have his hands full finding her a proper husband. It wouldn’t have been that easy before—now, it would be even more difficult.

  He would buy her a husband, Emilian thought. But he had already known that. He knew de Warenne would choose with great care.

  He hated the idea of her being shackled to someone she did not love.

  He hated the idea of her marrying someone else.

  He exploded. She was tainted by association with him. He hadn’t intended any of this. If he had let the de Warenne family force marriage upon them, she would be living with the scorn of being his wife, but it was far better than the scorn of being his lover. He could not allow her to stay with him and live the hard life of a Rom and he couldn’t send her back ruined. His mind was made up.

  Her hand covered his. “Aren’t you going to sleep at all?” she asked.

  Startled, he looked down at her. “I am enjoying looking at you.”

  Her smile faded and she searched his eyes. “What is wrong?”

  He somehow smiled. “Nothing.”

  She surprised him by taking his large hand to her mouth and
kissing it. “You are sad! How can you be sad now, after the night we have shared?”

  He hesitated. “You cannot stay here, Ariella.”

  She sat up. “I will not leave.”

  He sat, too, surprised. “I mean it.”

  “Too bad! And don’t try to claim that you do not want me. That is bunk.”

  He almost smiled. “I will always want you.”

  “Good.” She cupped his cheek. “Then that subject is ended.”

  “No, it is not. You pursued me here against my wishes. I am sending you back. But I will not allow you to be my Gypsy whore.”

  Her eyes widened and she flushed.

  “That is what they will call you, behind your back. Loud enough for you to hear, by the way,” he said darkly.

  She lifted her chin. “Fine. Then I am a whore.” She shrugged. “I suppose the slur will hurt, but I will manage and it will pass. I am not leaving you.”

  He smiled. Her eyes widened, but he knew when to be seductive. “That isn’t the subject I wish to discuss…darling.” And he pulled her into his arms.

  “Why am I getting the distinct feeling that this is not about making love?”

  “But I am going to make love to you very shortly.” He cradled her in his arms. “We should have been married at Rose Hill.”

  “What?” she gasped.

  He searched her beautiful eyes.

  “But you don’t want to marry me,” she finally said, her eyes wide.

  “I don’t like being forced into anything. No one is forcing me now. I wish to make an honest woman of you.” He pulled her down, beneath him.

  “Stop! This is so important!”

  “I don’t want to see you hurt. I don’t want to see you scorned. You should have never come, Ariella. But you did, and we are very entangled,” he murmured, repositioning himself for more effect.

  “So you wish to marry me to protect me?” she asked huskily.

  “Something like that,” he said roughly.

  “When you can tell me that you love me, I will accept,” she gasped.